


Beyond Our Divisions

by MajorityRim



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cannibalism, Class Differences, Class Issues, Classism, Dogs, Hannibal is a Cannibal, I’ll add tags as we go, M/M, Manipulation, Rating subject to change, Slow Burn, classist beahviours, eventual smut probably, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorityRim/pseuds/MajorityRim
Summary: Hannibal Lecter has lived both in wealth, and lived in squalor. He is a man who knows what it means to have everything, and what it is like to lose it all in the blink of an eye. Were Hannibal a different man, he might have taken issue with just how separated the wealthy are form the poor, might have campaigned against their treatment, but Hannibal doesn’t care much for either class, doesn’t care for their sufferage or their pain. To him, all others are all equals, and none shall ever surpass the mediocrity that they live in, no matter the money they have to flaunt, and no matter the ‘kindness in their hearts’He is comfortable and happy in his life, and wants for nothing, nor wants nothing to do with the divide between classes. That is until he meets Will Graham. If Hannibal were a different man, Will Graham might be safe, but instead, he’s to learn just what it means to be the object of Hannibal’s obsession.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I made a mess of the synopsis, but you get the general idea ;)

The slow but strategic seperation of classes had happened well before Hannibal’s time, and as a consequence of his upbringing and life in his youth, he had thus experienced both sides of the world, both sides of the walls that kept people so tightly within societies ruling.

He had first lived happily as a small child in the comfort of a lavish estate, he had wanted for nothing, warm food in his belly and a warm bed to sleep in at night. There had never been any need to worry about what clothing he had to keep warm, and he had always been clean and well kept. Later on, after facing the cruelty of men who sought to take their frustrations of an unfair world out on innocent children, he had learnt how hard it was for those with nothing. He had learnt what it felt like to slowly starve, what death felt like when it creeped up and gently caressed the side of your face, doing it’s best to lull you fully into it’s inviting embrace, what it was like to run and run until his lungs had burnt, until he could feel them in his throat and feel his heart beating through his chest. He had never expected that he would return to such a life as the one he had first had in those moments, he pined for a warm bed and a full belly, but had expected to never get there. It had taken him many months to adjust back to life on the other side of the wall; long months of his Uncle suspecting that he’d gone mad, long months of silence and of nothing but long hours in the kitchen preparing meal after meal to help cull those thoughts in his head that were unsavoury, and to reassure himself that he’d never go hungry again.

Both sides had shaped him, and as a result, Hannibal has become a man who blended seamlessly amongst all people, a carefully curated man who knows no boundaries, and sees himself above all others.

Hannibal’s past has not made him sympathetic to those considered to be ‘beneath’ him, as Hannibal has little care for what ones class is, but it has opened him up to the reality of the world, that of which is broken, the divide of classes, and subsequent walls that have erected over time to keep the classes separated, prove not that he was worth more than any one man, but in fact that he is worth more than all of them. Class did not automatically create a good man nor a great one, all it created was one place that is far easier to hunt for food in, and one that causes more of a ruckus amongst ‘civilised company’. All men were the same once you strip them of material possession and socilital worth, Hannibal has found, only their diet and final moments living really make them any different from one another.

Hannibal himself does not equate his past and what he has lived through to the man that he has become. The past has shaped his tastes, but he likes to believe that no matter where he had ended up as an adult, he would have been the same. Hannibal is Hannibal, not because of his house or possessions, but because of his intellect and what he chooses to do with that. That is what makes a man, and it is the only thing worth judging oneself or others on.

Hannibal has never been one to back down from a challenge however, and civilised company has had to adjust to him as he has hunted them indiscriminately from those on the other side of the wall. He does so in private of course, the Chesapeake Ripper has no face nor will he ever, but he hunts them nonetheless. Hannibal has learnt, and learnt long ago, that rudeness does not care about man made boundaries or walls, it transcends such, infecting all men and women with equal abandon, and thus, Hannibal hunts them with the same equal abandon. He creates art out of those on his side of the wall, and simply leaves the corpse’s of those to rot on the other side. He does occasionally consider turning one from the other side into a masterpiece, but he does so love the narrative that the media chooses to paint instead. A tragic and broken artist sneaking in from the other side to cause such violent and beautiful pieces, upset by the inequality that all on the other side of the wall seem to think they suffer from. Those from the richer areas cannot even think to blame somebody on their own side, they choose to ignore how hard it is for somebody from the lower class to cross over, let alone do it multiple times to commit murder and then display the body. Hannibal uses that to his advantage, it gives him more room to move, more room to create.

The police do not bother to consider anybody of Hannibal’s standing, the profile that is painted is of some savage, he’s free to hunt whenever he likes, still clean and careful, but hunting without the worry of anybody blaming him. He’s killed people that travel in the same circles as him before just to see what will happen. Nothing ever does, the reports are all of tightening the security along the border, there are petitions to ban lower class citizens from coming through at all, they all fail, nobody wants to clean their house themselves.

It’s because the wall is so hard to pass that Hannibal is taken aback by the sight in his backyard one early morning. He often rises early, the quiet of the morning allows him to get work done more efficiently, but this morning Hannibal doubts he will get any work done. He firsts spots it from inside the window that looks out to his garden from his dining room, stepping out into the fresh morning air to investigate what he has seen. There a figure sleeping underneath one of the well kept bushes in his yard, the sight much like a satyr come to rest after a long nights play. A mass of curly hair constraints with pale skin that stretches a little too thin over bones, worn clothing doing nothing to keep the cold out as the man sleeps, buried as far under the bush as he could have managed.

Hannibal stands at the edge of his back porch, wondering just what to do with the man. Most people would run and call the police, or would hide and hope that the man leaves to bother neighbours instead, but Hannibal himself is entranced. This faux woodland creature, a beautiful specimen of a young man, has wondered unwittingly into the lions den and decided to rest; either he is sick and dying, in which case Hannibal has no need for him, or he is brave and ready to fight. He may not even be asleep, instead waiting for the chance to make his attack, the thought of such excites Hannibal, and rather than turn and call for help, he ventures out into his garden to see the man from closer up.

He comes to a stop just in front of the man's head, looking down at the man who is indeed asleep. Hannibal stares for several long moments before clearing his throat politely to wake him; the dark haired man jerks backwards at the sound, catching himself on the bush as he struggles to his feet, drawing a gun from underneath him. It’s a curious sight, somebody with such soft features holding a gun up to him, but the gun fits in the man's hand well, and Hannibal can tell that he’s used it before.

Hannibal scents the air and can tell that the man has been cut by the bush, it is didn’t, but there is the tang of fresh blood in the air, he wonders if the man has even noticed in his panic to arm himself. Perhaps he is too sore to even notice that there is another wound upon his body, Hannibal knows that there reaches a certain point where every part is felt, and so nothing feels at all. He says nothing on the matter, it would be too close to playing his ace far too soon.

“I don't want any trouble.” The man’s voice is raspy, throat dry, but not from fear. “Just turn around and go back inside, and there won’t be any trouble.” Hannibal considers the offer with some thought. He could indeed just go back inside, maybe he’d hear about the man on the news later that day, maybe they’d try and put the murders on him, but it’s not often that Hannibal feels true excitement anymore, and walking away from it seems a waste. Hannibal is not a wasteful man, he loathes to be such, he will not turn away and run.

“What if i choose instead to be brave?” He asks, and he can see that the man is taken aback by the thought. He tightens his grip on the gun, but his eyes betray him, looking between Hannibal and the gate. Hannibal is in the way, and one way or another he must be removed so that the man can leave. A gunshot would alert the neighbours, but of course there is no guarantee that this bothers the man with the gun. “What would you do then?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The man replies, his eyes flick back to Hannibal, fierce and honest. He would rather do this another way, he did not come here to kill, the gun is for his protection but he’d rather not use it. “Just go inside, and pretend you didn’t see anything.”

“But I have seen something, haven’t I?” Hannibal muses, “And it would be my civic duty to report as much.”

“You don’t have to call the police, just let me leave, I haven’t done anything wrong.” The man replies quickly, his eyes move between the exit and Hannibal once more. He fidgets where he stands, but is otherwise calm, eager to leave, but not so eager that he’ll do something rash. He’s smarter than that, he knows how best to survive.

“I don’t wish to see you in trouble, do you have papers to be on this side? I’m more than happy to take this as a misunderstanding and let it all go if you’ll show me them.” The man licks at chapped lips and shakes his head, Hannibal has caught him in even more trouble; not only has he trespassed onto Hannibal’s property, but he shouldn’t be this side of the wall.

“I don’t have papers, I’m not supposed to be on this side.” He admits after a beat, the gun remains fixed on Hannibal.

“Then you are breaking the law.” Hannibal states, now even more intrigued. “Why come to this side and sleep under somebody’s bush when the penalty for doing such is so high?”

“You have better medicine over here.” The man’s free hand moves down to his pocket subconsciously protecting something. He has stolen something as well as his other ‘crimes.’ He has not stolen from Hannibal, Hannibal himself would have heard the man in his house if he had, but perhaps from one of his neighbours, or even a pharmacy. “I— I have trouble sleeping,” The man explains further, as if to win favour somehow, “I wanted something to help.”

“You seemed to have no difficulty sleeping in my backyard.” Hannibal retorts. The man’s eyes harden at the casual smirk on his lips, and takes half a step forward.

“I was desperate, I didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

“Unfortunately for you, I am an early riser.” Hannibal is glad that he is, he would have loathed to have missed such an opportunity, sure that the scent of the man would have lingered in his yard, teasing Hannibal with what could have been. “Less unfortunately, I am a doctor.”

“I don’t need your help.” The man is quick in his response, untrusting, Hannibal cannot blame him for that, quite often lower class citizens are used for human testing, better to test side effects on people that do not matter, especially when you don’t have to pay them accordingly for their participation.

“I think you do,” Hannibal counters, “You would not risk your life coming here if you were not in need of a medical professional.”

“No offence, but I don’t really trust doctors.”

“Luckily for you, there is little harm I can bring you while you are armed.” Hannibal has no intention of doing anything unethical to the man, at least not yet. He is far too curious to see what this man’s mind can do at normal functionality to want to drug him in any way, nor would he want to harm the meat if it comes to such.

“I’m still going to have to pass.” The man’s distrust outweighs whatever help he needs, and so Hannibal chooses to change tactics. He does not want to lose the man, nor does he want to be shot so that the man can escape. If he cannot offer professional help, he’ll offer a more sympathetic hand out.

“How about breakfast?” The man lets out a small huff of laughter, bitter and yet is somehow intoxicating to Hannibal’s better judgement,.

“You some sort of low-class sympathiser, Doctor?” The man chides.

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” Hannibal shrugs lightly, “More that I see everyone in the same light.” Beneath him, Hannibal muses, but the man not need know that.

“Beneath you, and therefore equal in the only way that matters.” It is as if the man has read his mind, and Hannibal finds himself startled and excited all at once. The gun is lowered, but the man still grips it tight in his hand, guarding whatever is in his pocket. “Alright, sure, but don’t expect me to pose for any photos so you can show all your friends what you’ve been up to this morning.”

“I have no interest in parading you about, don’t worry about that.” Hannibal assures. “I wouldn’t be so crass as to do so. Come, I'll make us both something to eat.” The man hums behind him, following Hannibal up to the porch.

“What should I call you? Doctor? My Lord and Saviour,” there is bitterness to that particular monika, “Sir?”

“Hannibal is fine. Doctor Lecter if you insist on such pleasantries, though I don’t mind. And what should I call you? Boy?” Hannibal can’t help but tease lightly, the man, though he doesn’t appreciate it, sees that it’s a joke all the same, a faint smile on his lips.

“Will’s fine, Mr. Graham if you insist on such pleasantries.”

Will Graham. What an exciting creature to be dropped upon his back doorstep.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal leads Will Graham inside and wonders briefly if the man will try and take anything from his home. Hannibal is offering food up without expecting anything in return, or at least nothing that Will might be able to garner, and it wouldn’t be entirely unexpected if the man tried to make away with more than just a full belly of food in hopes of supporting himself a little better on his side of the wall. Will doesn’t act like somebody who would still from a hospitable host, but desperate men are often forced to let go of their morals to survive; Hannibal’s curious to know just what Will is willing to do in order to survive; if he’d pull the trigger of a gun, perhaps he would still from Hannibal as well. Then again, Will seems too smart to act so rashly.

While there is an inciting intellect hiding behind Will’s sharp tongue and unkempt appearance, Hannibal is yet to meet anybody who has matched him intellectually, and while he would never admit as much out loud, he doesn’t expect much of those from the other side of the wall. Lower class people tend not to get the same education as the wealthy, and many are of a far lower intellect than what many on Hannibal’s side might refer to as normal. While Will certainly appears that he’d at the very least reach ‘normal’ standards for the wealthy, Hannibal joyfully enjoys being above even that, untouchable and unreadable even by the best.

“Nice house. Just you here?” Will breaks Hannibal’s silent gloating, pulling him back to the conversation that’s still not quite as fluid as normal conversation might be, both parties naturally guarded and unused to sharing small talk when not forced to. Will, Hannibal notices, has taken his shoes off, muddy sneakers in his hand rest against the side of worn jeans. It’s a courtesy that Hannibal did not expect from the man, and it brings a smile to his face.

“Just me, yes. You can place your shoes by the door.” He offers. Will hesitates for a moment, reluctant to let them go, before he backtracks slightly to the door, setting them down neatly and out of the way.

“Figured you wouldn’t want mud all through your house.” Will explains, if only to fill the silence between them both. “You don’t like mess, it’s a wonder you even let me inside.” Hannibal notes that Will didn’t suggest that Hannibal doesn’t like mess -which he does not- but rather stated it plainly as fact, as if he already knows what Hannibal does and does not like. Will is peering inside him, even if only at a surface level, and the feeling is intoxicating.

“Thank you, yes,” Hannibal leads Will through to the kitchen as he speaks, curious to see what else Will might pick from Hannibal, what else he can tell without even knowing the man, “I prefer to keep a clean house, I appreciate you removing your shoes without being prompted.”

“You didn’t expect it from somebody like me, huh?” Somebody like me referring to Will’s class, of course, though the assumption is hardly out of the ordinary. “Though most people don’t bother, it’s a nice change of pace, you were more taken aback by the action itself, rather than by the fact that I was the one who did it.”

“You have a very keen sense of observation, Will, were you formally educated on this side?” Will’s expression sours slightly, his eyes drop from glances around the room to his feet.

“I got my education where all the kids like me did, Doctor Lecter, being observant wasn’t something I was ever taught.”

Will Graham continues to get more and more fascinating the more that he speaks. At this rate, Hannibal risks scaring Will off more than he does getting into a physical confrontation with the man. He doubts that he will eat Will, the younger man has far more potential than just what dishes Hannibal could make from his meat.

“I apologise, it was an insensitive question.”

“You’re curious, it’s fine, it’s not like anybody knows any better, we’re all taught the same things about you lot, I’m sure that you’re all taught the same things about us.” Will shrugs, though Hannibal can tell that he has receded in on himself, he’s no longer as amicable, not that Will was all that much to begin with.

“There is quite the divide between classes, misconceptions are easy to make when all knowledge is passed on second or third hand.” Hannibal offers in way of an attempt to clean up the spill that he has caused. “My curiosity overstepped the bounds.”

“I’d say now you know where the line is and not to cross it,” Will looks back up, making eye contact with Hannibal’s chin rather than meeting him eye to eye, “But I’m pretty sure you’ll waltz straight back over the line again anyway, apology or not.”

“Perhaps I should apologise now for all the times that I will.” Hannibal offers. Will grimaces, though it might supposed to be a smile.

“No thanks, an insincere apology is worse than none.”

“Then I shall reserve them only for when I truly mean them.” Though of course, over breakfast, Hannibal doubts he’ll be sorry for anything that he does or says. He has only a short time with Will Graham, and does not want to waste the opportunity.

“You said something about breakfast?” Will moves to change the subject, and Hannibal cannot blame him. He nods, moving around the counter to fetch his apron, and then the ingredients that he needs.

“How does scrambled eggs sound?” He offers, taking eggs and several other ingredients out onto the bench. He’ll serve them with the sausage he made last night, a nameless woman from the other side; her meat is rich, and Hannibal’s only regret is that there’s little left of her to enjoy.

“Anything’s fine, free food is free food.” Will sits himself on a stool to watch Hannibal prepare the meal. He pushes long curls from his face with an irritated swipe, before finding a comfortable position, leaning back slightly on the stool, creating space between Hannibal and himself. “I’m not allergic to anything, so I’ll eat anything.” Hannibal wonders if that would still be true if Will knew just what was inside the sausage.

—

They sit in silence while Hannibal cooks, Will says nothing to fill the silence, nor looks uncomfortable in it. He still has the gun, though it’s tucked away in his dirty green jacket now, and apart from the irritated sounds he makes as he pushes hair from his face, betrays no sort of emotion nor gives anything away about himself. He is deliberate in guarding himself, Hannibal quickly realises, and is aware that Hannibal is watching him in an attempt to learn more. Though Hannibal is discreet in his observation, Will is quick to notice, and since closing himself off, has prevented Hannibal from learning anything at all. It’s both frustrating and exhilarating, and Hannibal realises that he needs to either find an excuse to keep Will with him for longer, or needs to find a reason to invite the man back, despite the obvious difficulties in doing so. Breakfast will be an important affair, and will make or break Hannibal’s opportunity to explore Will’s Graham’s mind.

“Is this the first time you’ve come across the wall?” Hannibal asks as he’s serving up the two plates. He plates the meals with the same care he would for any guest, Will’s class does not affect how Hannibal chooses to present himself.

“I don’t think I should answer that kind of question, Doctor Lecter.” Will replies, still guarding any information about himself. “It’s not legal for me to be on this side, like I said, I don’t have any papers.”

“A fair answer, though I have no intentions of reporting you to the authorities, I would be in just as much trouble for accommodating you here, as you would be for crossing.”

“Probably not quite as much trouble,” Will returns, before answering Hannibal’s question. “I’ve crossed a few times, but I don’t make a habit out of it.”

“Always for medication?” Will shakes his head and takes a set at Hannibal’s table.

“For dogs, mostly, a lot of strays wander off and nobody thinks to look for them on the other side, They dig holes under some of the less patrolled areas, or accidentally end up in sewers and come out on my end. I try and find if they’ve got a a home, but the ones that don’t end up living with me.” It’s a lot of information about Will all at once, and Hannibal wonders if it’s the food that has opened him up to discussing himself, or if it’s just that Will is passionate about his cause.

“You illegally cross over because of stray animals?” He asks, watching as Will takes the first bite of his meal, eyes closing slightly as he sucks in a breath, clearly enjoying Hannibal’s cooking.

“This is amazing,” Will speaks with his mouth still full of food, but Hannibal finds he’s not offended by the rudeness of such. “I cross over because the dogs can’t always find their way back, they end up distressed and can hurt themselves. Besides, it’s like losing a family member. Wouldn’t you want a member of your family back if they’d wandered off somewhere?” Will raises his eyes for only a moment, but Hannibal is sure that he catches the small pang of sadness that he struggles to suppress.

“I would, yes.” He replies, turning to his own meal. Will Graham continues to watch him for a beat before returning to his own meal.

“That’s why I cross over.” He hums between mouthfuls of egg and sausage. “Seems like the right thing to do.”

“Is it the right thing to keep those that you cannot find their homes? Many would consider it theft” Hannibal asks. Will shrugs at the question, ignoring the deliberate attempt to provoke him.

“If people really cared that much, they’d look harder. It’s not like I want to have to keep the dogs, I’m sure they’d be happier at home with their families.” Hannibal notes that Will chooses not to use the word ‘master’ as many might, instead equating the animals to part of the human family, as equals amongst those who keep them. “I only take them once I’m sure they won’t be missed, I have six so far, but I’ve probably returned dozens more than that.”

Not a thief then, something far more nobel. Hannibal wonders if Will is filling a hole in his life with the animals, or if he’s even aware that he might be doing as much. Will looks up when he fails to continue the conversation, eyes narrowing.

“What kind of Doctor are you, Doctor Lecter?” He asks with a strong amount of dislike for the profession Hannibal has chosen. “You don’t really give off the air off a medical doctor, and I doubt you’d reduce yourself to working as anything less than.”

“May I ask what makes you think I’m not a medical practitioner?” Hannibal asks, more and more intrigued by what Will notices, and by how he might notice such things.

“You’ve spent the entire morning picking me apart, but not in the way that somebody would if they were just trying to get to know me.” Will says accusational and not at all amused with Hannibal’s game. “More than just a friendly get to know, you’re probing, subtly, but I’m not an idiot, I can see what you’re doing.”

“I was a surgeon, but now I am a psychiatrist.” Hannibal concedes. “Is that an issue?”

“Yes.” Will is blunt in his reply, he’s stopped eating. “It is if you feel the need to poke around in my head for your own gain. I’m not you science experiment.”

“I would never consider you as much.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Hannibal.” The sudden change of title to his first name is jarring, Will deliberately attempting to throw Hannibal off so that he might eat in peace. All it does is draw Hannibal in even more; he doubts that once Will is gone, that he will be easy to forget .

“I’d apologise but-“

“You wouldn’t mean it. I know.” Will finishes for him. Again, Hannibal is inclined to forgive his rudeness. “You won’t like me when you’re poking around up there, Doctor Lecter, it makes me… irritable.” Hannibal wonders what Will might do, but he doesn’t want to push too hard and ruin the chance of seeing the other man again.

“Of course, I’ll do my best to refrain from prying, though of course it isn’t something I can simply turn off.” Will gives him a sceptical look, as he if knows that Hannibal is only using it as an excuse for poor behaviour in the future.

“You’re real careful with your words, huh?” Hannibal chuckles lightly and nods.

“I try to be, yes.”

 

—

 

They finish breakfast in silence after that, Will keeps his head down and Hannibal is wise enough to know that perusing conversation would only make the other man shut down further, instead happy to simply observe Will’s actions. The man finishes everything that has been served up to him, and though he clearly wants to make sure that everything is off the plate, refrains with tightly pressed lips as he sits and waits for Hannibal to also be done. He then goes so far as to take his own dishes to the sink, sitting them aside to be cleaned without any prompting, standing to follow Hannibal before Hannibal himself can collect the dishes from Will.

“Thanks for breakfast.” Will is already tense and ready to leave, he keeps glancing to the clock on Hannibal’s wall, and Hannibal know that the man wants to leave before it becomes too busy and too hard to leave without being spotted. “And thanks for not calling the police on me, most people would have panicked after seeing me in their yard, I guess I owe you for that.”

“You put up a compelling argument not to call the police.” Hannibal is still curious to know if Will would have shot him, though unfortunately it isn’t something he can test without actually being shot, he won’t press it, he doesn’t want to end on a hostile note. They shake hands and Will collects his shoes.

“If you’re in ever in town again, feel free to pay me a visit.” Hannibal offers. Will laughs and shakes his head, crouched down at the end of Hannibal’s porch as he does up his shoes.

“Real funny, Doctor Lecter. Have a nice life.” He gives Hannibal a solitary wave, a parody of something more friendly than Will is willing to offer, and slips out Hannibal’s gate after first checking that no one is around to see.

Hannibal instantly feels the empty space where Will Graham was, and wonders if he’ll ever have the opportunity to talk to the man again. He walks back inside where Will’s scent still lingers, cleans the dishes from breakfast, and continues his day the best he can; though his mind again and again falls back to Will and their brief interactions. There is a chance of course that Hannibal could track him down on the other side, though following Will is hardly going to make him amendiable to Hannibal’s attempts to learn about him. It’s a shame, really, that Will was from the lower class and not one of his patients, perhaps then he could have had the opportunity that he had really wanted with Will, the man’s appeal to Hannibal transcends his status or where he is from. Some things, however, are unfortunately not meant to be.

As it turns out however, Will Graham is not one of those things.

It’s a month on since their meeting, and though Hannibal still thinks of the man, he has accepted the fact that he’s most likely not going to ever meet with the man again. He focuses instead on his work as before, and has told nobody about his fateful encounter with the man, unwilling to share the experience with anybody, lest they taint it with their own opinions and prejudices. One month of nothing, Hannibal has even taken to scouting websites that track sightings of those from the poorer side of the wall, but nothing that matches Will’s description is ever listed. It is not until he has come home from his office one night, the rain a light drizzle and finally coming to an end after the downpour through the day, that Hannibal gets to see Will again.

He realises the moment that he is through the front door that he is not alone, there is the sound of movement coming from his dining room, and the passing light from a flashlight momentarily lights up the hallway. Hannibal moves silently, toeing off shoes as he approaches the doorway, the sweet scent of a fever flooding him as he gets closer and closer before he realises that the scent has a familiar tang to it.

He rounds the entrance and sees Will Graham standing in the middle of his dinning room, soaked to the bone, and shoes in his hand.

“Doctor Lecter.” He mumbles, and it is clear all at once that Will is not entirely present in the room. He sways, taking half a step forward in a daze before reaching out to brace himself on the back of a chair, dropping the flashlight with a loud clatter as he does. “Please—“ He snuggles. “I— I don’t know how I got here, I woke up in your yard.” Hannibal moves quickly to stabilize Will, Will gripping onto him in turn, weak and hot to the touch despite being soaked to his very core. “I don’t know how I got here.” He repeats again, confused and upset, barely able to hold himself up.

“It’s alright, Will,” Hannibal can barely control his excitement at the matter. Fate has presented him an opportunity, and he would be a fool to throw it away. “I’ll help you, you do not have to be afraid. Come, let me take you to the guest bedroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/critiques are welcome, I’m always looking to improve as a writer. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Will Graham is far lighter than he looks, and Hannibal finds it unnervingly easy to carry the younger man upstairs to the guest bedroom. He wonders briefly, what it might be like to take Will hostage against his will, how the man might fight when at full health, how he might struggle against Hannibal in an attempt to breath free. He wonders what it would be like to hunt Will, to chase him down and confront him before taking Will’s meat for his supper. Normally, Hannibal would not get into a physical confrontation with his prey, fear makes the meat taste acidic in most cases, and ruins what could otherwise be an enjoyable meal. Perhaps Will would not be frightened though, perhaps he’d fight with anger, fight to win dominance, to establish himself as the true predator. When Will first looked at Hannibal over their shared breakfast, Hannibal had seen something there lurking just behind intelligent blue eyes. He’s curious to know just what that there could manifest into; what Hannibal could shape it into, or if he could coax it out at all; he can be very enticing when he wants to be, there are a plethora of clients who are none the wiser to how Hannibal has transformed them.

It would be an interesting experience and yet it is one that Hannibal knows he cannot ever take part in. To fight Will like that would be to lose him. No matter the outcome, Will would no longer think to return to Hannibal, either through one of their deaths, or in the event that he escaped and fled while they still had their lives. Best to take the opportunity presented to him now, where Hannibal can win Will’s favour by offering him sanctuary and help through his illness; where he can gently pry back the folds and scoop out what is inside. Will Graham will be his finest piece of art, and Hannibal will not have to kill him to achieve as much.

Will is helping this cause of Hannibal’s, of course; he has delivered himself quite literally into Hannibal’s arms, fevered and soft under Hannibal’s touch, like clay ready to be molded into something new. It will be curious to know if Hannibal was Will’s first choice for help, or if the man has come to him as a last resort. Both options Hannibal can spin to his favour. Either he is the first person that Will thought of, meaning that Hannibal has already ingrained himself at least to some degree within Will’s subconscious, or the man is so desperate that he has nobody else to turn to. If Hannibal is all that Will has, then he will have nowhere to run to when he thinks to escape.

Will is fully unconscious by the time they reach the bed, his breaths are shallow, sweat thick on his brow, and he no longer mumbles soft incoherent words underneath his breath. Hannibal worries for a moment that he might lose Will before he has the chance to shape him. He lays the unconscious man on the bed, leaving Will only to retrieve the medical kit from the master bedroom ensuite. Hopefully Will is not so sick that he needs a hospital, without the proper papers, Will cannot and will not be treated by a doctor on this side of the wall, and would very likely be deported straight back over to die without the proper care he needs. Hannibal would most certainly receive some sort of fine for harbouring Will also, though the cost of such is of no worry to him; he’d mourn the loss of Will far more than the loss of his money. There is no underlying smell of any troubling illness to Will’s fever sweetened scent, and thus it’s likely that he won’t need such drastic medical attention, but even a fever left too long on its own can have disastrous effects on the body. Hannibal can’t help but wonder if Will remembered their previous conversation a month ago, if he remembered that Hannibal was once a medical doctor, or if his subconscious simply led him there to Hannibal’s backyard because he was seeking out any help he could get. Either way, it has likely saved Will’s life, and provided Hannibal with the very opportunity he needs to ensnare the man for himself.

Hannibal returns with what he needs, as well as a damp, cool cloth to try and help with the fever. Though having Will in such a state gives Hannibal control over him, and he could let Will sit in his fever for a while longer to grow his dependence, Hannibal wants to first win the man’s trust. Something tells him that Will’s trust is hard to earn, but once it has been, it will be easy to slip through the cracks of Will’s mind and subtly mold the man to a shape that he would not have become of his own free will. This undeniable moment of trust is the first step into breaking down Will Graham’s forts and entering as an uninvited guest. Hannibal will enter so many times that Will will not even realise when he has and when he has not invited Hannibal inside, and once they have reached such familiarity, Hannibal will exploit it to his fullest extent.

He places the damp cloth over Will’s head, and places the themonitor under Will’s armpit. the man’s temperature just over 104 degrees. It is a good thing that Hannibal found Will when he did, only a few more degrees would have begun to have disastrous effects on the man, and Hannibal wants Will at his full potential.

There is little that he can do after that, and so he keeps an eye on Will and lets him sleep. Hannibal is a patient man, and he knows that it’ll be worth the time spent.

 

—

 

Will wakes up just as Hannibal is preparing to leave to his office for the day, he stirs as Hannibal approaches his bed, wincing as he wipes sweat and the cool cloth from his head, attempting to pull himself up to sit.

“Careful, Will, you need to move slowly.” Hannibal isn’t so forward as to reach out and touch Will, to gently lead him to lay back down, he instead keeps a respectful distance, ready to help should Will be foolish enough to try and get out of bed, but far enough away that he doesn’t present himself as a threat. Will tenses at the sound of Hannibal’s voice, eyes crack open and though the look Will gives him suggests that he’s less than impressed to find himself in Hannibal’s company, Hannibal himself couldn’t be more entranced; even scowling there is an innate beauty to Will that cannot be denied. He offers Will a small smile, checking his watch and deciding that he can spare a few minutes before he has to leave.

“I found you in my backyard again.” Hannibal explains without prompting. “You had a high fever, and had come to me for help.” Will gives him a dubious look, but seems to accept what Hannibal has said as the truth, irritably pushing locks of hair from his face as he manages to pull himself fully upright to sit.

“I shouldn’t have come- I don’t even remember coming here if I’m honest.”

“You did seem as if you were not fully present in the moment, yes.” Hannibal confirms. He wonders then what led to the line of logic that led Will into Hannibal’s yard for help. “What do you remember?”

“I was, uh. I was following a- stag, I think.” Will looks unconvinced by his own memory, and provides no further details about the creature he has just confessed to following. A frown sets itself onto Will’s face as he attempts to recall the events of the night, but his confusion suggests that he can remember very little.

“There was no stag in my yard, Will.” Hannibal prompts gently, but Will has locked himself off to further discussion about it.

“I suppose I should thank you for bringing me inside.” He says instead. “You’ll probably have to burn your sheets after letting somebody like me sleep on them.” The joke is dry, and though it hold a lot of weight, Hannibal can see that Will means nothing by it.

“Perhaps I shall, I suspect the smell will be very hard to get rid of by any conventional means.” He replies with a shrug. Will’s eyes dart to his for only a second before looking away, soft laughter falls from his lips startling both men. Hannibal himself is surprised that he was able to elicit such a response, Will is so obviously high strung in his current situation that it’s a pleasant surprise to see him relax, if only for a second. Will himself looks confused at his own laughter, as if it’s been a long while since he’s had something to laugh about; Hannibal supposes that it’s true, there is little on the other side of the wall that can bring joy, after all. It is just another way that Hannibal has helped set himself apart from everyone else, he is more than happy to be a source of joy for Will Graham.

“I should get out of your hair. Ah- thanks for putting me to bed, I guess.” Will breaks away yet again, eager it seems not to form any sort of connection with Hannibal.

“Actually, I would rather that you stay,” Hannibal chooses his words carefully as he speaks then; he can already see the distrust forming on Will’s face at what he has said, and doesn't want to spook the man further. “Just for one more night, at the very least, I want to make sure that you’re in full health before I let you leave.”

“I don’t know if you’ll ever get full health from me, Doctor Lecter,” Will replies sceptically. He sits stiffly in the bed, as if worried about what will happen if he tries to get up. Hannibal would allow him, though he doubts very much that Will would get very far, not given how high his temperature was. “You’ll have to keep me forever for that to happen.”

“Then you are to be my prisoner.” Hannibal replies plainly, and this time when Will laughs it is louder, richer.

“You’d get sick of me and kick me out, full health or not.” Will chuckles, “I’ll stay, it’s not like I’ve got much else to be doing right now.” Hannibal is happy to take the small victory from Will, nodding as he gestures for Will to lay back down in the bed.

“I must go to work, but there is food in my fridge, and cool water in a pitcher. You should try and stay off your feet and rest the best you can, Will, please, take the time to rest, but if you need me, do not hesitate to call. I’ll leave my number on a piece of paper beside my landline,” Hannibal pauses, humming to himself slightly. “do you know how to read?”

“That’s pretty rude of you to ask.” Will grumbles, though they both know that it’s a reasonable enough question given Will’s upbringing on the lower class side of the wall. “I can read yeah, I know all my numbers up to ten.” His joke is once again dry, though the clear offence in his voice tells Hannibal that this time it would be inappropriate to laugh at Will’s bold and refreshing nature.

“I apologise, sincerely.” Hannibal concedes. “I have a small home library in the lounge if you find yourself well enough to get bored also. I’m sure that it goes without saying that if someone should come to the door—“

“I won’t answer it, don’t worry.” Will assures before Hannibal can finish speaking. “Go on, I won’t burn your house down.” Will lays back down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you have anything that’d help a headache?”

“I have aspirin,” Hannibal offers. Will nods, still holding his head.

“Please?”

Hannibal is glad that Will can use his manners even through his condition, and leaves momentarily to fetch Will the aspirin and a glass of water, gently helping the other man take both when he returns.

“I’ll be home sometime after seven, please feel free to make yourself at home.” He says as way of a goodbye. Will hums vaguely in his direction, and gives what Hannibal can only assume is supposed to be a wave.

With any luck, Will will still be there when Hannibal returns home.

Curious on his way out to his car, Hannibal checks his backyard to see if there are any animal tracks. Much as he expected, there are none, only the stumbling footsteps that Will had left in the mud, deep enough that even the rain has not completely washed them away. He checks just outside of his yard also, careful as he walks, doing his best to avoid the bulk of the mud, but even where Will has forced his way through the back of Hannibal’s fence, there are no animal marks that would suggest anything like a stag. There are paw prints however, belonging to a medium sized dog of some sort, and Hannibal wonders if one of Will’s dogs had followed him outward when he’d begun his journey, or perhaps he had befriended a stray before feverish wandering into Hannibal’s yard. Either way, the animal is nowhere near, and content with his findings, Hannibal leaves for his work.

If a dog, or for that matter a stag, does wander into his yard, Hannibal will deal with it then, but until such time, Hannibal is content with the one lovely creature he already has in his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques/reviews are welcome as always! I’m always looking to improve my writing and storytelling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed appropriate to add a chapter from Will’s POV here, I’d love to know what you think!

When Will next wakes, he is alone in Hannibal Lecter’s home; though he can still feel the man’s presence like a thick fog that clouds Will’s vision from seeing the truth of what’s happening. The home that Hannibal has constructed is as much of a lie as Hannibal is himself, and Will can’t help but to be curious about what is being hidden. He’s so used to seeing everything, that being unable to see anything is both a comfort and yet mildly concerning. Will knows that he only sees what Hannibal wants him to see, wants Hannibal wants the world to see, and Will can’t help but think that the Hannibal that presents itself to the light would not be the same as the Hannibal allowed to thrive in a darkened room.

Will also knows that prying wouldn’t be good for his heath; not that he’s exactly in top shape, but it’s not like he wants to get any worse. It’s probably better to just ignore the creeping sensation that Hannibal isn’t who he says he is and take the hospitality the Doctor has offered. Will won’t be there for long, and he has no obligation to ever come back to Hannibal once he’s fit enough to leave, so it’s really none of Will’s concern what the other man does behind closed doors. He just wants to get back to his dogs and put Hannibal out of his mind.

A month ago, when they had first met, Will had done his best to forget about Hannibal, and he’d almost managed to. Provided he didn’t wander back into Hannibal’s yard again, he’d probably be able to manage to forget about him completely and move on with his life. Hannibal wasn’t that interesting anyway, Will had just liked the quiet that had come with looking at the man. That eerie, synthetically made silence provided Will with a break from the usual chaos from the world. When he looked in, he saw nothing, and that gave him room to breathe, but Will preferred not being arrested for breaking the law. Under different circumstances, maybe he’d get to know the Doctor, but not under these ones.

Why does the one person Will could have actually stood prolonged contact with have to live in the upper class area? He wasn’t exactly willing to go about crossing the wall just to see Hannibal, it wasn’t really worth getting caught. Will wouldn’t be able to afford the legal fees, and more importantly there’d be nobody to look after his pack. Hannibal isn’t worth losing his pack over. Nobody from the upper class is, or ever will mean that much to Will, it just won’t happen.

It takes some effort, but eventually Will manages to push himself up to his feet and stand without immediately wanting to sit back down. He’s not sweating anywhere near as much as he has been judging by Hannibal’s sheets, and the distant sound of hooves on floorboards has finally faded away. All in all, if he hadn’t have already told Hannibal that he’d stay an extra night, Will would probably try and leave. It’s a lot harder to pass over the wall in the middle of the day, but Will feels more nervous at the idea of staying on the wrong side. He feels like a sitting duck, a large red target painted on his back, and all it would take is a single nosy neighbour for Will’s little sanctuary in Hannibal’s home to become a trap box. Maybe if he’s lucky, Hannibal will understand that Will wants to leave under the cover of night, rather than staying over, especially considering that Will is feeling a hell of a lot better. He trusts the Doctor as far as medically knowing what’s best for him, but other than that, Will isn’t sure he can trust Hannibal at all. Just because he turned up delusional and sweating like he’d run a marathon in Hannibal’s back yard, doesn’t mean that Will trusts him. His mind was trying to find a safe place, and if nothing else, Hannibal has proven that he has no interest in calling the police on Will. That doesn’t make him trustworthy though, it just means that Hannibal isn’t a complete cock.

If Will’s to stay though, he’s going to take full advantage of it. He’s hardly going to pass up a shower with proper water pressure, and a good meal. Make the best out of a bad situation and all that. Will isn’treally one for usually taking this kind of opportunity up, but given the situation, there’s not really any reason for him not to take advantage of it, damn the consequences. Hospitality, in his experience, was a double edged sword, people were not often kind without some sort of an ulterior motive, and it worried Will that he couldn’t sense what Hannibal’s was. Best to just take Hannibal’s kindness and use it for all it was worth, with any luck, the cost wouldn’t be all that high.

Something told Will that the price would be _incredibly_ high.

The halls of Hannibal’s home feel both personal and impersonal at the same time. Will walks out of his bedroom into them and at once is transported- _thrust_ \- into the idealistic view that Hannibal has painted of himself. A self portrait that looks nothing like the man behind the subtle smile and cunning eyes. It feels hollow, a deceptive lie that makes it hard to breathe, thick with all the nuances that are needed to create the lie that is Hannibal Lecter.

But too it's subtleties that showed Hannibal for what he is. A quiet eccentric; well bred and appreciative of beautiful things, even if those things were not conventionally beautiful. Dark rich colours that bleed from the walls would undoubtedly match the inside of Hannibal’s mind, so perfectly entangled with the lies in the house that it would be impossible for Will to work out what was Hannibal, and what Doctor Hannibal Lecter if he tried. Will’s curious to know just what the differences between the two the men are, but he has no intention of staying long enough to find out. Hannibal can live his life however he chooses, it is of no consequence to Will.

He trails fingers over the walls as he walks down to find the bathroom and does his best not to think about anything; it’s a blessing that Hannibal guards himself so tightly, when it’s only curiosity that drives Will to look, it is a lot easier to compartmentalise and stay out of somebody's head. It becomes even easier once he is in the bathroom, here there is little that speaks out as Hannibal, here Will can breathe freely. It is like being in his own bathroom, undisturbed by outside factors, though there was considerably less dog hair in Hannibal’s bathroom.

He moves to the shower, stretching in to start the water, and it’s only then that Will realises he’s dressed in what must be Hannibal’s own pyjamas. At some point, Hannibal has redressed him, which while Will knows makes sense, given that he remembers it raining last night, makes him uncomfortable to think about. Dry clothing is better than wet clothing, but then again, his own clothing is better than the expensive pyjamas that Hannibal has dressed him in. Something tells Will that Hannibal would get a kick out of coming home and seeing Will still dressed in his clothing, and wonders if that was Hannibal's plan when he redressed Will. Will’s going to find a way to ruin that for the other man, even if he has to stand outside and act as his own personal clothesline.

Forgetting the uncomfortable thought of Hannibal undressing him and redressing him, Will sheds the clothing and climbs into the shower. The water pressure in Hannibal’s shower is amazing. It’s warmer than what Will can ever get his shower to, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in a light rain shower outside. For once Will feels like he’s actually getting clean, the selection of soaps and other body care products that Hannibal owns all smell pretty good too, though Will sticks to the one bar of soap that smells the least, he doesn’t want to carry Hannibal’s scent on his skin. It feels too personal and Will doesn't want to get too personal with Hannibal. He dries himself off and puts the pyjamas back on, no other choice but to do so until he locates his own clothing, and does what he can to dry his hair. It’s a mess in his face, and Will considers finding a pair of scissors to cut the damn crap from his face like he’s been meaning too for the last month and a half. Better to not though, better to do it in the comfort of his own home, and in his own clothes. But before all that, Will’s first priority, even before food, is to find his own clothing. Without them, Hannibal has too much control in the situation, and Will doesn’t want to give the man any more control than necessary.

He pads barefoot through Hannibal’s home, down the stairs and into each room as he searches for the laundry. Hannibal is a neat person, and Will very much doubts that he would abandon a pile of wet dirty clothes anywhere else, even for the sake of complete control. He finds Hannibal’s study first, heavy wooden door swinging open in silence, it’s been well oiled and Will can’t help but think that it’s for more than just the upkeep of the house. Hannibal’s home is almost unnaturally silent, as if maintained to keep sound from spreading. Most people wouldn’t care so much about the occasional squeak of a door opening or creak of the floor, but Hannibal has somehow mastered whatever it takes to render a house completely silent. Unwilling to pry through Hannibal’s office, Will closes the door and continues. He clings to the sound of each muted footstep, lest he start to go crazy from the absence of sound.

Behind him, the silence is broken by hooves that echo unnaturally through the house. Will spins around to try and catch the creature, but sees only the passing shadow of something in the opposite direction to where he’s headed. It would be best to ignore the beast, but Will can’t help but to be drawn to it. It was leading him somewhere last night, Will just doesn’t know where.

He follows it telling himself that it’s for a good reason; his clothing will still be in the laundry when he returns.

He follows the sound to the kitchen where it stops. The stag before him is covered in feathers, a deep black that swallows the light around it. It looks first to him, and then to a door behind the counter and with no clue as to what the stag wants, Will moves forward to it, hand reaching out slowly to the door handle, twisting it when he finally makes contact, the handle cold under his hands.

The door is locked.

Will jolts as if he’s only just now woken, standing alone in the kitchen, the stag nowhere, no sounds of his hooves on floorboards, no feathers it might have shed as evidence on the floor. He looks to the door in front of him and tries the handle again. Locked. Whatever is in there, Will doesn’t care. The thought crosses his mind that Hannibal might have locked it to prevent Will from stealing anything. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but it’s reasonable enough to assume, after all, even the most well intentioned of upper class man would have some biases and stereotypical view of those on the others side of the wall; the media likes to create these false narratives that everybody on the lower class side of the wall is capable of all sorts of horrible things.

He leaves the kitchen and returns to his attempt to find the laundry. Will won't bring the locked room up with Hannibal when the man returns, he doesn’t like the uncomfortable tension it promises to create.

It doesn’t take him long to find the laundry now that the stag has left him alone, and Will’s not surprised to find that his clothing is still in a basket, half wet from the night before. Hannibal isn’t the type to leave mess about, and so Will knows that it’s a subtle power play on the man’s behalf. If Will’s clothing is not clean or dry, then he cannot leave, and is forced to stay in Hannibal’s clothing. Unfortunately, Will knows how to use a washing machine, and even better than that, Hannibal has a dryer. There’s a small amount of satisfaction in knowing that he’ll have ruined Hannibal’s subtle attempts to gain control over him, and after a little searching for the washing powder, Will’s clothes are in the wash. There’s little he can do about his boots, but Will never really makes an attempt to clean those anyway. Once everything is clean and cry, Will knows he’ll feel better; wearing Hannibal’s clothing feels too much like he’s in ill fitting skin, made worse only by the fact that he has no idea what that skin intends to do with him, or who he is inside of it. The sooner he can get changed the better.

With his washing on, Will ventures back into the kitchen to find the food that Hannibal had promised; his eyes gravitate towards the locked door before he brings his attention back to what’s important, the small Tupperware container than has some sort of rice dish inside. There are no other leftovers in the fridge, and so Will assumes that this is the meal that Hannibal intended for him. It’d be interesting to know if Hannibal made the dish with Will in mind, or if there were leftovers that he simply chose to donate to Will instead. Hannibal doesn’t seem like much of a leftover guy, personally, but the thought of Hannibal going to the trouble of making a meal especially for Will is more troubling than he’d like to think about. Whatever game Hannibal is playing, Will wants none of it. Then again, he’s probably being paranoid, Will is nothing to Hannibal, he’s probably making connections that aren’t there because he can’t get a solid read on the man. He’s uneasy because he can’t see Hannibal behind his mask, and because of it he’s assuming the worst. A man who willingly opens his home to somebody like Will, who feeds him and seems to be genuinely concerned for his heath, and who has -though he’s hiding something- been completely honest with Will, probably isn’t all that bad.

The food certainly isn’t, that’s for sure. It tastes just as good as the breakfast Hannibal had made was, the flavours rich and unlike anything else Will has ever had before. He can’t quite pick the meat that’s been used, but it’s not like Will is an expert on cooking or anything like that. He’s happy enough to just stuff himself with it without trying to analyse what it’s supposed to be. Hannibal obviously enjoys cooking, and even that small bit of information is enough to bring some comfort to Will. There's probably a lot that could be learned about Hannibal through his food and how he prepares it, and Will suspects that that’s when Hannibal is most himself.

He cleans the mess he’s made and leaves everything neatly on the bench for Hannibal to put away later. Will doesn’t want to leave his own imprint on the kitchen by opening every drawer and cupboard trying to find where things belong, something tells him that Hannibal will appreciate that.

While he waits, Will steps out into the backward. He stands on the poarch and does his best to recall the events of last night, but everything is muddied and far away, like somebody has recorded over footage on a VCR. Some of the audio remains, the sound of rain, hooves, Hannibal’s voice, but nothing else. Will can’t remember the night, he barely remembers leaving his own home. The last thing he remembers is feeding his dogs and having a beer before bed. He’d heard something, maybe, his dogs hadn’t noticed, but he’d gone outside to check. Will remembers pulling on his shoes, he went out the front door and—

—nothing.

Hannibal, leading him inside.

Hooves. A great stag over his bed as he slept, Will had been too weak to get up and follow it.

When Will opens his eyes again, he’s standing in the mud where he’d first been found by Hannibal. He’d hoped to sleep there and leave when the sun rose, he hadn’t expected Hannibal to see him. What a twist of fate, hiding there, and then his mind delivering him back there a month later.

Will only hopes that it turns out to be a twist in his fortune, though some nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that his luck isn’t about to get any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and critiques always welcome! It helps me improve, and fuels my desire to push for better, more consistent work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on the update. From here on, I’ll b posting a chapter every three to four days (Because that was my original upload plan before I got excited and decided to upload the first four chapters almost back to back. WHOOPS)

When Hannibal returns that afternoon he almost expects to see that Will has already left. He is not a creature that can be easily caged, naturally flighty, and made with senses all too eager to find the danger in the room. Will is not a man who is easily tampered with, and who Hannibal is sure can already tell that Hannibal wants to see just what Will can do. It’s a surprise then, when he finds Will not gone, but in fact taking Hannibal up on the offer to read, perched with his legs tucked up underneath him in an armchair with a book balanced on his lap. Will has changed back into his own clothing, and for all purposes looks like a house guest who has come to stay. Only the quality and condition of Will’s clothing separates him from those Hannibal usually has in his home, a beacon that shines out broadcasting his lower class status, even if Will himself presents himself as utterly normal in the situation.

Sensing Hannibal’s presence, Will glances up shutting the book. Hannibal cannot help but be entranced, Will sparks something primal deep within him that Hannibal would not usually pay any mind to.

“You know, when you said small library, I was picturing a shelf, not an entire wall,” Will breaks the silence without formally greeting Hannibal, casting his eyes back down to the closed book in his lap. “What’s your definition of a regular sized library?”

“I have a larger one in my office.” Hannibal does not bother with a greeting either, he does not move into the room, doing so would feel as if he were breaching Will’s space; struck how quickly the man has marked his territory. Will’s personal space extends far out around him, and stepping inside would be rude, something that Hannibal will not tolerate in himself. Will’s eyes follow an imaginary line on the floor until he makes it to Hannibal’s shoes, and then half way up his body. He smiles, the realisation of what has happened dawning on him only now, and Hannibal cannot help but smile in return, unseen by the man who refuses eye contact with him.

“You hold yourself to a high standard, Doctor Lecter, but you don’t have to do it around me.” It’s hard to tell if Will is inviting Hannibal to sit out of kindness, or if it’s simply a test; he’s unsure of how much Will will play with him, how much Will will prod in retaliation to Hannibal’s own poking. After a moment, he steps in and takes a chair near Will’s. It is his own home after all, he will not be chased out of it, no matter how enticing the idea may be to see where that would lead.

“I see you located your clothing. I did not get a chance to clean them in my own time.” Hannibal watches as the corner of Will’s lips turn upwards into a small, victorious smile.

_Clever boy._

“I left the pyjamas you dressed me in in their place, it seemed like a fair trade to me.” Will has turned Hannibal’s own plan against him, and made a clear statement that he’s not going to simply lay down and accept Hannibal’s decisions as law.

“You didn’t wash them?” Hannibal asks.

“Seemed a waste to wash just one set of clothes.” Will replies. They’re both aware of the fact that Will washed his clothing with nothing else in the machine, it only serves to make Hannibal even more interested than he was before. Will is as clever as he predicted, but even better than that, he’s tenacious.

“Will you still be joining me for dinner then? I would still like you to spend the night to make sure that you’ve made a full recovery.” Hannibal needs to find a way to persuade Will to return, and he knows that he cannot do it before dinner, pushing too much too fast will only serve to drive Will out of his home with no intention of ever returning. Will regards his knees for a moment before he shakes his head, setting the book to the side.

“I’d be pretty stupid to turn down your hospitality, but I’ve got to get back to my dogs. They’re used to being left for a night but i can’t really leave them for a second one.” Hannibal wonders if Will is using his pets as a convenient excuse, or if there is really an urgency to return to them. No matter the answer, he knows that he cannot deny Will the right to leave; to do such would paint him as unfavourable. A man who does not let another man leave to attend to his animals would be seen as cruel to Will.

“Of course, but I must insist that you stay for dinner. If you would like, I can provide you with leftovers to take with you when you head back.” Given that he’s already admitted to crossing the wall illegally for the dogs, it’s quite obvious that they are Will’s main priority in life. However, Hannibal wants to become that priority, and subtly placing himself before Will’s pets will help establish that in Will’s own mind, even if only on a subconscious level.

“I’m pretty sure that’s bribery, Doctor Lecter. Holding food above a poor man’s head is kind of cruel, don’t you think?” Nevertheless, it means that Will will stay for dinner. Hannibal shrugs, caught in his own deception but no worse for it.

“I wish to spend as much time with you as I can, I cannot help but to bribe you.”

 

—

 

Hannibal prepares something far more elegant this time around. He wants to show off and entice Will into coming back, finding the line between what he would usually serve at a dinner party, and something more simple to appeal to Will’s own tastes. He is not a man who takes interest in the showmanship of Hannibal’s food, more interested in enjoying the meal that is placed in front of him than staring at how it is arranged on the plate. He presents Will with a beef filet from an inconsiderate woman who chose to sit in front of Hannibal month earlier at a charity event, and then proceed to talk the entire way through the opera they were attending. She pairs excellently with the pomegranate sauce, and the seasonal vegetables that accompanies the dish adds a vibrate dash of colour, carrots roasted with potato and beetroot to bring everything together.

Hannibal waits for Will to take the first bite, and savours the expression on the other man's face as Will swallows it down.

“This is amazing.” Will speaks while his mouth is still full, and Hannibal wonders if that’s a habit he’s going to keep up. He knows that Will most likely does not recognize what he is doing, there are certain customs that differ depending on what side of the wall one is on, but Hannibal can’t help but comment on such.

“Please Will, finish your mouthful before speaking.” Will looks taken aback by what Hannibal has said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before sitting up a little straighter.

“Sorry, probably should have done that, yeah.” He nods. “It’s real good, hard not to compliment the chef.” Though he has just been scolded, Will relaxes almost immediately afterwards, and Hannibal wonders if they’ve established some line of trust. In polite company, most people don’t speak up when something irritates them, it takes a certain amount of comfort and honesty to do so, even in private. Perhaps Hannibal has just passed a test without even knowing there was one to pass. He smiles to himself and takes a bite of his own meal, humming contently at the mix of flavours in his mouth. Delicious as always, she was a good choice for tonight’s dinner.

“I’m willing to forgive you because you enjoy my poking so much.” Hannibal teases lightly. Will snorts into his next mouthful and rolls his eyes. Hannibal is still unused to such behaviour from a house guest, but he can’t deny that it is charming. Will’s company pairs well with the dish, and Hannibal suspects that he would pair well with any dish that Hannibal might present. He opens his mouth to speak again when there is a knock at his door. The sound sees Will drop his fork, eyes darting to where the sound came from before returning to Hannibal who is not at all pleased with the late night guest. He is not expecting company, and worries that it may be law enforcement here on a complaint or sighting of Will. He dabs his face clean with his napki and stands, gesturing Will to stay where he is. Whoever it is, he is sure he can get them to leave without any fuss, Hannibal’s standing in the community gives him a lot of pull, and most will simply just leave upon request.

Will says nothing, but he needn’t for Hannibal to be aware of his concerns; he would have to be a fool not to be scared as to who is at the door, his lileagal seat at the table is more than enough to get him in more trouble than the seat is worth.

“I will return momentarily, please, continue with the meal.” Hannibal assures, and hopes that this third, uninvited guest does not scare Will away while Hannibal is with them. With any luck, Hannibal won’t be with whoever it is for long enough that Will can slip out the door. He’ll certainly be putting them onto his list, that’s for certain; they may have just ruined Hannibal’s one chance to convince Will Graham to return to his home some time in the future.

As it turns out though, Hannibal cannot make plans to kill the rudely late guest at the door, at least not yet, he’s far too many plans for the man.

Jack Crawford is a man who for anybody else facing him, would strike an opposing and somewhat aggressive shadow. It is not that the man is inherently aggressive, not in the traditional way, more that he tends to dominate a room and is used to being the loudest voice in a conversation. He also happens to be a member of the FBI, and currently working the Chesapeake Ripper case. Lately he’s been asking Hannibal to talk a look at some of the files and make a profile, worried that the Ripper is about to resurface. While Jack is right, it’s certainly time for Hannibal to get back into the swing of things and produce more of his artwork for the masses to theorise about, unfortunately, Hannibal has been too busy to profile himself for the FBI, offering instead to help with any other much smaller cases. It is the latter, Hannibal assumes, that brings Jack to his door at such an inappropriate hour.

“Jack,” Hannibal greets, standing in the doorway so that Jack doesn’t think to invite himself in. “I was not expecting you,” Hannibal has no interest in accommodating the man right this very second, but knows that he cannot simply close the door in Jack’s face, the man is too inquisitive to simply leave, and whatever has brought him to Hannibal’s home must be important. “How can I help you?”

Jack looks past Hannibal as if expecting an invitation in, before holding out a file for him to take. “I need you to have a look at a case for me. We’ve got no idea what’s going on.” Hannibal takes the file, still making no attempt to invite Jack in. Every second that he wastes here is a second more that Will could use to slide out and vanish into the night. He will not lose this opportunity thanks to Jack Crawford's poor timing.

“I will have a look in the morning, and call you with any details I come up with.” He offers with a small nod.

“I was wondering if I could come in and we could discuss it?” Jack seems hopeful that Hannibal won’t be so rude as to turn away a friend and colleague. Hannibal smiles politely in turn, but shakes his head.

“I’m afraid that I am entertaining a ah-“ he pauses long enough to make it seem as if he’s reluctant to divulge any personal matter, “a guest, I’m afraid. But I will call in the morning.” Jack makes a soft noise, raising an eyebrow before stepping away from the entrance.

“Oh, well, I better leave you to it,” Hannibal is grateful that Jack would never be so rude as to pry in such an obtuse way. With the little information Hannibal has provided him, it’s not hard for Jack to assume that Hannibal has a romantic partner over, and Hannibal is hardly going to correct his assumptions.

“Goodnight Jack, travel safe.” He closes the door before Jack can reply. His eagerness makes him rude, but Hannibal cannot care.

He glances once at the file that Jack has provided, closing it by the time he has reached the dining room, setting it down on the table opposite Will’s seat at the table. Will himself has stood up, and was obviously pacing before Hannibal rendered, body tense and ready to run if the situation calls for it.

“I apologise for the interruption, shall we resume dinner?” He takes his seat, setting his napkin back down across his lap. Astonished, Will barks out a laugh, running a palm over his sweaty face.

“Of course you’d be sorry about that and not about poking around in my head.” He sits himself down, brushing his face again before reaching out to take a large drink from his wine glass. “Take it that was somebody from your work?”

“From the FBI, actually. An acquaintance there has asked me for a criminal profile.” At once Will’s attention is drawn to the file on the table, his curiosity plain for Hannibal to see. “Would you like to look?”

“Isn’t that a bit unprofessional of you, Doctor Lecter?” Will’s temptation to look betrays his attempt to stick to any sort of social code. Hannibal watches as he bunches up his hands to resist the urge to reach out and look.

“I won’t tell if you don’t” Is his playful reply. Will pauses before reaching out to open the file. The only shame in the matter is that in his eagerness to look, Will has abandoned his meal.

“I always wanted to be a cop.” Will explains as way of justification, though Hannibal hardly needs a reason to show Will the files, he’d do it just to sate his own curiosity and further his attempts to keep Will as his own. There’s a moment of silence, filled only by Will moving the files and photos on the table as he reads and looks over everything, before he pulls back, as if he’s been caught with his hand in a cookie jar, his eagerness falling away behind a mask.

“He’s killing them for a reason, like he can’t kill somebody that he wants to- look at them, not that it’s hard to notice, but they’re all basically exactly the same. He’s probably building up to the one he really wants.” He continues to pour over the files, continuing to move from the newest victim, whose body had been found, and the others with bodies still missing them.

Will turns to Hannibal, a mixture of concern and grief on his face. “He’s eating them. I- that’s why she was put back into her bed. Look—” Will pushes the file towards Hannibal. “Liver cancer, the meat was-“

“Bad.” Hannibal offers when Will can’t seem to find the right word. “That’s astounding Will, how did you do that?”

“I don’t really want to go into it.” Will replies, retreating in on himself. Hannibal has found something truly beautiful about Will, but Will is as quickly unwilling to share as he had been excited to look. “I should probably go.”

“What about dinner?” Hannibal cants his head, looking down at his own plate. Neither of them have had a chance to truly enjoy the meal.

“I’m not hungry.” Will shakes his head and stands up. “I’m sorry, dinner was nice, I’m gonna go though.” He darts away from the table, eye’s cast on the ground, and takes only moments to pull on his shoes and run out the door. Hannibal sits at his place at the head of the table, reaching forward to take the photo of the last victim staring down at the girl tucked back into bed.

Hannibal has found a way to ensure that Will Graham comes back to him.

It is about time that he crossed the wall for some fresh meat, perhaps this time he will leave something for Jack Crawford to call him about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a review/critique, I’m always looking to improve my skills.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, in true fashion of this time of the year, I got sick. I should be back to the before mentioned four day upload schedule though!

Hannibal is sure to keep a professional distance from the body when he’s called to the crime scene with Jack Crawford two days after their last encounter. It’s not often that the FBI bother to go over the wall to investigate a murder, but this particular scene of course calls for their expertise. There’s an electric energy of nervous chatter in the air as they approach the crime scene, a mix of lower class people come to gawp and see what’s brought people from the other side over, and a strong police presence to try and keep them under control turn grass to mud under their feet like startled cattle trying to escape a threat that comes from all sides.

He has placed the body somewhere where he is sure that news will spread quickly. After all, Hannibal’s intention with this display isn’t just to harvest more meat; what he really wants is for Will Graham to come and linger a while, to give into his curiosity and come. It’ll be a coincidence that they meet, Will there only to look because he can’t help it, and Hannibal there because Jack Crawford begged him to come.

“I understand that the Ripper usually doesn’t display his work on this side of the wall.” Hannibal inserts quietly, breaking Jack’s attention and drawing him away from the body.

“No, he doesn’t. I don’t know why the hell he’s suddenly started here.” Jack is worried, more so than he lets on, Hannibal offers him a small smile of reassurance. Tensions between the two sides means that it will be hard to interview people; they aren’t trusting of those from the upper class side of the wall, there’s strongly held prejudices from both sides that creates a barrier amongst most. The upper class people often see the lower class only for their use as cleaners or for manual labour, and the lower class see their ‘superiors’ as oppressive and manipulative. If some sort of fight doesn’t break out from Hannibal’s attempted courting, he’ll be very surprised.

“I don’t understand why he’s changed his pattern.” Jack grumbles, arms crossed over his body as he stares at the display, eyes boring into it as if it might come back to life and tell him some secret.

“Perhaps he is trying to elevate himself. Show his kin that they are capable of more than what is commonly suggested.” Hannibal offers.

“It’s a call for attention. ‘Look at me’ he’s trying to get somebody to notice him.” Will Graham’s voice surprises Hannibal, and he turns only a fraction slower than Jack who is all too eager to see who has given the suggestion. Will grimaces, and it’s obvious on his face that he has automatically regretted his decision to speak up. Bound by some sort of moral obligation to try and help, he has pushed himself into the spotlight, but he wants to dim the lights, so that only his voice can be heard. His eyes are cast down on the ground staring at muddy boots, and there’s a large brown dog by his side, sitting obediently as it waits further command.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Jack somehow manages to sound both professional and incredibly affronted by Will, but Hannibal already knows he’ll hear what Will has to say.

“Will Graham.” Will wipes his hand on his jeans before reaching out to shake Jack’s hand. “I uh- Look at the way he’s posed. Arms stretched outwards like a performer, your killer is putting on a show, and he wants somebody to watch.”

Hannibal smiles to himself, proud of Will’s observations.

_Clever boy._

“Anything else?” Jack is less aggressive this time, taking a step to the side to give Will a better chance to look.

“It’s hard to tell without getting close.” Will admits. “It was just an outward observation. The body is posed specifically, the eye’s drawn to the open arms. He could be inviting somebody in, but he’s been made to look like a performer introducing a show.”

“You’re not trying to get a closer look at the body because you’re a reporter are you?” Jack is weary, though obviously tempted to let Will closer. Jack isn’t against unorthodox methods to get answers, especially when they present themselves so willingly. Hannibal can’t help but hope that Jack sees more use for Will than just this one body, he wants Will invited in, to be given papers, to be introduced into Hannibal’s world so that Hannibal himself can snatch him away from it.

“The reporters have already been in to take photos of the body, trust me, they always make it before any cops show up. Any photos now will be of you because it’ll look good on the front page.” Will replies blandly. “I wasn’t asking to get any closer, I was just telling you the truth. I need to get closer if you want me to tell you anything else.”

Jack looks to Hannibal, and Hannibal shrugs in turn. Will has given no indication thus far that he knows who Hannibal is, to betray him now and give Will his vote of confidence would betray Will’s trust.

“Civilian consultants are often useful, however they are also not usually form this side of the wall.” He offers instead. It must be Jack’s choice to take Will on, all Hannibal can do is gently nudge Jack in the right direction.

“We’re also not usually on this side of the wall.” Jack rebuffs.

“Perhaps, but this is a very high profile case.”

Jack looks between Hannibal and Will, before he lets out an irritated huff.

“You’ve got two minutes, so don’t waste it.” He says to Will. Will doesn’t look pleased by this answer, but steps forward and under the police tape all the same.

“Clear the area!” Jack barks. He no doubt wants to hide what he is doing from as many people as possible, and Will dutifully waits until everybody is gone before he approaches the body, no doubt just as eager to conceal himself from the masses. Hannibal watches, enthralled by the sight of Will reading his crime scene, eager to see what Will finds in his kill. Part of him wants to know if Will will be able to tell if Hannibal is the Ripper just by looking at the one body. He has never been enticed by the idea of a cat and mouse game, much more happy to play the cat who has already caught the mouse and killed it, but here and now he is drunk on the thought that Will could work out who he is. He has never before given thought to the idea of somebody seeing through his crimes to see him, and Hannibal is very much curious to know if Will is even capable of doing it. Hannibal is very careful in concealing his identity, and too he has the advantage of being from the right side of the wall- rather the wrong side to be accused of such violent crimes, but to a mind like Will Graham’s it’s entirely possible that he’ll be seen and exposed.

Each second that passes ticks on for an eternity, Hannibal caught in the beautiful sight of his artwork displayed so perfectly in front of the man it was meant for. His muse, as it were; he can only hope that Will can see the beauty for what it is, that he won’t turn away with his nose turned upward in disgust.

“I have killed like this before, and am practiced, but this is a new and exciting step forward.” Will speaks clearly though lowly, his words obviously only meant for Jack and by extension, for Hannibal, in no rush to expose himself to anybody else just out of earshot. “This body holds no importance to me, there’s nothing to be found in my canvas, it’s only purpose is to hold the art that I have created.” Will’s words cause Hannibal to preen inwardly, he cannot help but be delighted. “I am presenting myself, not to an audience, but to a singular person, somebody who I cannot be openly seen with, so I have brought them a gift to their side, I have adorned it with fine silks and flowers, both traditional gifts, something to attract the eye.” Will turns back around to Jack and Hannibal and blinks slowly, rubbing his hand over his face.

“This is the Chesapeake Ripper, isn’t it?” He asks. Jack raises and eyebrow, frowning into the action.

“I didn’t think your side got our news.” He’s tone is accusing, as if he’s caught Will, caught _the Ripper_ , in a misstep.

“When your news is a serial killer, it’s kind of hard for us not to hear about it too.” Will shrugs. He’s not concerned, the idea that he might be the Ripper hasn’t so much as crossed his mind. “Little things, you know? I remember something pretty grisly a few years back, but nobody really cares over here because it’s the one thing we don’t have to worry about.” Jack doesn’t seem all that convinced by what Will has to say on the matter, and it’s certainly not a bad theory to suggest that Will is somehow involved -something Hannibal will have to remember, if ever something comes up- but also doesn’t press the issue. He’s too smart of a man to think he can force a confession out of Will.

“What do you think then? Since you could see so much from just the body.”

Will looks taken aback for a moment; it was a surprise enough that Jack entertained him and let him look at the body, the poor man must be utterly confused by Jack’s offer to hear his theory on the matter.

“Male, middle aged, from the other side of the wall.” Will ventures. “Probably single, lives alone for sure. You can’t kill and display somebody like this with somebody at home.”

“Wait, from our side? You’ve got to be kidding!” Jack scoffs. Apparently that’s far less believable than any of what else Will has said so far. “Almost all criminal activity comes from-“

“Do you really think that somebody from this side might have the skills to cut the organs out like that?” Will interrupts, jutting a hand back out to the Ripper’s display. He seems far more offended that Jack won’t listen to what he has to say than the idea that it was somebody on his side who committed the crimes; more annoyed that Jack isn’t seeing evidence for what it is. It has been a ore point for Hannibal for quite some time, he didn’t go to medical school just so that someday later his skills with a blade could be compared to that with just about anybody else’s who fancied a try.

Jack stops and fixes Will with a fierce look, not yet willing to admit the truth that Will has pointed out to him.

“Male, middle aged, upper class.” Will repeats again, this time with far more conviction. “Probably a Doctor.” His eyes dart over to Hannibal, but there’s no accusation in his stare; whatever profile Will has made for the Ripper, Hannibal does not quite fit it. Perhaps it is the compassion that he has shown Will previously, it is hard to imagine that anybody who could do such a thing to another human would also willingly let somebody like Will into their home not once, but twice. Instead, the look suggests that Hannibal should back him up, that what little trust they have formed, Will is calling upon. He’ll be owed a favour, and Hannibal can hardly pass that particular opportunity up.

“From here it certainly does look like the cuts may be surgical,” Hannibal concedes quietly, spoken as if meant only for Jack, though he’s sure to make sure that Will can hear him as well. “But I would need a closer look, or perhaps a look at the case files in the very least. I do not wish to jump to conclusions, but such a degree of skill would suggest somebody more trained than what one might find in this particular location.” Though Jack doesn’t wish to believe Will’s own theory on the Ripper case, he’s more inclined to listen to what Hannibal has to say, and placed between a rock and a hard place, gives in with a small huff and shake of his head.

“Well if you think it’s worth looking into, Doctor Lecter, perhaps we should.” Hannial nods, looking back to Will. His shoulders are tight, and he’s doing everything he can to avoid eye contact, staring angrily into the ground by his feet. Nevertheless, Hannibal is sure that Will is thankful for his interception. Now all he must do is find an excuse to speak with Will alone, and if chance provides it, learn where Will Graham lives so that he’s sure to leave his next display somewhere else that Will might find. He can’t get too close of course, while Hannibal enjoys the idea of a cat and mouse game across the wall with Will, he doesn’t actually want to be caught; that would ruin his plans, and would make it significantly harder for Will to trust him.

Will opens his mouth as if he wants to say something before he shuts it, chewing on his bottom lip as if he wants to remove it completely. Unable to resist, Hannibal takes the small cue to probe further.

“Is there something else you would like to add, Mr. Graham?”

The look of interest on Jack’s face could bore a hole through Will and into the dead man behind him.

“I’m interested in hearing anything else you’ve got to say.” He says it more as a demand than a polite request, though when it comes to his work, Jack is often more blunt than polite, and it’s hardly unusual to speak to somebody from Will’s side of the wall with such a bluntness that one wouldn’t use in good company.

“I might be able to help,” Will finally concedes after another moment of determined chewing on his lip. “I’m—” he pauses, and Hannibal wonders what phrases pass through Will’s head before he settles on the appropriate way to explain himself. “I’m good at interpreting and understanding things that aren’t always clear for others.”

“Like a physic?” Jack raises an eyebrow, instantly sceptical. The look Will gives him, though short, is equally as sceptical.

“No. Everything I see is there. I guess you could say I’m really good at those ‘find the hidden object’ games.” An interesting analogy, but it makes enough sense. Will has the ability to acutely see and interpretation evidence that isn’t so clearly in view, or at least not in view for the common eye. “I’ve studied a bit of law too, or at least as much as you can study here.” It’s obvious that Jack is torn between taking Will up on his offer, and instead simply continuing as he has been. The Ripper is a case that he wants solved, and any new method of doing so is not something to be turned away; desperate times and all that, especially given that it’s well known that the Ripper always leaves three scenes to be admired. If it doesn’t work out, Jack can always abandon Will Graham and pretend as if he were never there to help.

“Alright. But we’ll have to get you papers, assuming you don’t have any already. And an excuse to be over the wall, the FBI won’t officially hire somebody like you.” Again a bluntness that isn’t uncommon nor frowned upon in polite society.

“I could hire you as my gardener, or perhaps a personal assistant.” Hannibal offers, and Jack nods, instantly approving of the arrangement, even before Will has a chance to give his own opinion.

“His involvement on the case needs to be completely off the books, Doctor Lecter, I’m sure you understand.” Jack’s enthusiasm for the idea is almost comically apparent. The man may uphold the law, but he’s not against bending rules slightly to bring justice to those he believes deserve it; it will be curious to see what happens if such a time where Hannibal is discovered ever arrives. “We’ll have the papers organised as soon as possible, and get you access to case files, though you’ll need to be supervised while you look at them.”

Will’s telltale grimace almost makes Hannibal laugh, he’s growing quite fond of the expression.

“I suppose that makes sense,” He mutters, scuffing his shoe in the dirt. “You need my details then?” Hannibal reaches into his pocket without prompting and retrieves a small address book.

“Here,” He offers, handing Will both the book and pen. “If you’re to be my assistant, it only makes sense that I have your details rather than Agent Crawford.”

“Good thinking Hannibal.” Jack nods, watching Will as he scribbles near illegible details into Hannibal’s otherwise very neat book.

How easily the pieces are falling into Hannibal’s lap, he can only hope that they continue to fall so neatly once the real game begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews/criqtues are welcome, I’m always looking to better myself as a writer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so long thanks to a combination of several back to back colds, and a small slump in motivation. Nanowrimo should hopefully be the motivation I need to keep a proper upload schedule. This won’t be abandoned, but my health may impact uploads for the next little while (I’m a little baby when I am even the thought of being sick, it’s inconvenient)

Jack leaves them shortly after, and Will isn’t at all surprised by the distance that Will has suddenly put between the two of them. Though he’s still standing quite close, Will has shut himself off, he stares at the ground and doesn’t make any attempt to initiate conversation. There is a sudden hesitance to talk to Hannibal, and Hannibal wonders if it’s because Will has demonstrated yet again what a marvellous mind he has, or if it’s because Will is uncomfortable being seen in what is effectively his ‘natural habitat.’ 

“I expected you to be here, but I didn’t think I’d actually be right.” Will finally says after what must be close to ten minutes of silence. His hands are buried deep into his pockets still, and his eyes are fixed on Hannibal’s shoes. “After that other case file—” He goes on to rationalise. “I figured that somebody would want you here to look.” 

“And instead you saved me the work.” Hannibal replies fondly. Will responds in turn with his own small grimace before he adjusts his glasses, pushing them further up his nose. 

“Doesn’t feel right to be able to see and not tell anybody.” 

“You certainly impressed Jack.” Hannibal nods. “A gift like that would be valuable in his line of work.” 

“I’m not sure I’d call it a gift.” Will shakes his head and it’s easy to see the disdain for his condition, even without being able to properly see his face. “Doesn’t feel much like a gift, most people would just say I’m ‘weird’ and we both know how weird people are treated.” 

“I don’t find you weird, Will, I think you have a wonderfully unique mind.” Hannibal offers, Will laughs unconvinced by Hannibal’s statement, and he cannot help but wonder how many others have tried to disingenuously convince Will that he isn’t ‘weird’ and shouldn’t be outcast for his mind. It’s an easy trap to fall into, given that Will’s gift no doubt makes it extremely easy to connect with even strangers. It would be interesting to know just how Will sees Hannibal, what he sees when he looks. Hannibal won’t press Will of course, Will’s mind is not a party trick, or at least not one that Hannibal wishes to exploit out in the open. 

The silence that falls between them is uncomfortable, though only because it’s clear that Will is unused to somebody sounding so sincere when addressing the matter of his mind. Hannibal let’s the silence sit for longer that he ought to, enjoying the power it provides him before he finally speaks up, breaking the silence like he is slicing it open, providing a new channel for conversation to drift down into 

“I trust that your dogs were all well when you returned?” The shift surprises Will, though he covers it well, coughing awkwardly, the forced sound stilted and short of the actual force behind a genuine cough, but it gives the younger man time to compose himself. 

“Ah- yeah. Yeah they were all glad to see me back, or just to get properly fed I guess.”

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Hannibal hums, and he can see that he’s winning Will’s favour. “I am sure that your pack was more than happy to have their Alpha back, unless of course in your absence they threw a coup and have overthrown you now. I dread to think that you’ve been cast out onto the street by your friends.” Will rolls his eyes, but it’s in good nature, chuckling lightly at the idea.

“No, they were glad to have me home. I was glad to be back too, not that your home isn’t nice, but I prefer mine.” Will has relaxed a considerable amount, and even goes so far as to take half a step towards Hannibal. Most people in Hannibal’s position would be disgusted to have somebody like Will move closer to them, but Hannibal cannot help but be delighted. How can he not be when it means Will is falling so neatly into the position that Hannibal wants. 

“I will have to come to your home then and see it for myself, I’ve never had a rival when it comes to my home.”

“I doubt you’ve ever had a rival for anything.” Will replies back, “You’re above everybody else and you know it.” His tongue is in his check, and as Will looks at him through his mess of curls, Hannibal laughs.

“And I doubt that anybody could match your bold toeing of the line between what might be considered rude and simply observant.” 

“Pretty sure I long jump over that line all the time, Doctor Lecter.” 

“Perhaps I am simply immune to your brash behaviours then.” 

If anything, that just makes Will even more singular and even more of an exciting prey to catch. Hannibal wonders what Will might think of being hunted, and briefly considers the idea of suggesting it subtly to see what the other man’s reaction might be, but decides against it. Better to see if Will can see what is coming without prior warning. He is obviously a gifted young man, and if anybody were to see through one of Hannibal’s games, he is sure that it would be Will Graham. 

“You look like you’re a fat cat with a mouse trapped underneath it’s paws.” Will pulls Hannibal from his quiet thoughts, an unimpressed look on his face as he prepares to make a run for it, or perhaps simply preparing to defend himself; something tells Hannibal that Will wouldn’t run given the option to. “I hope you don’t think I’m that cat. Just because I’m relying on you for papers, doesn’t mean you’re going to get to see me anymore often.” 

“You mistake my eagerness to help with the case as an eagerness to spend time with you, I’m afraid.” Hannibal politely returns. Will smiles at him, a cocky smirk appearing as his posture relaxes slightly.  
“No I don’t. I know exactly what you were doing with that offer.” 

“I did.” Hannibal confirms. Will’s smirk only grows wider. He likes being right, Hannibal realises, or perhaps it’s that he’s caught Hannibal in a lie that makes Will so happy; that he has bettered somebody who is supposed to be better than him. 

“Let me make my attempt to hide the truth from you up somehow,” Hannibal offers, gesturing behind him towards the cars parked away from the crime scene. “I can have Jack give you special clearance for the day. Allow me to cook for you again.” He will see to it that he is Will’s soul provider, even if it means that he will need to kill again so soon. Even if it means that the Ripper will have to break his pattern and kill in more than a set of three this sounder. 

“Nah.” Will’s enjoyment is clear on his face as he refuses the offer with a casualty that would be reserved for close friends in most situations. “If you really want to make it up to me, you’ll take me to the burger joint down the road. It does a mean pulled pork burger, and I’ve been craving one all week.” Will is punishing Hannibal, he is sure of it, and to refuse now would only work to weaken the bond that they have formed. In it’s frail state, Hannibal isn’t so ready to refuse Will despite the best interest of his stomach lining. It is a challenge, set forth by Will to see if Hannibal is both worthy of his time, and if Will is worthy of his in turn. 

Politely, through internally he screams against the suggestion, Hannibal nods. 

“How can I refuse such a high recommendation?” 

“You can’t, I guess. Or you can but it’d be rude.” 

Will is considerably more bold when he is in his own territory, and Hannibal is nothing but excited about seeing this new side presented to him. There is no danger for Will here, aside from Hannibal filing some false report about misconduct on Will’s behalf, and even then it will be Jack who bares the brunt of the repercussions. Will shouldn't be near the crime scene, and while most people would be appalled to hear that something had happened to Hannibal while over the wall, there would also be whispers pinning the blame on Hannibal himself. It would cause a disruption within his social circles as people tended to gossip about things the most when they had the least amount of details. He’d be blamed because ‘what else did he expect would happen?’ and other similarly distasteful things. Anybody who Hannibal knew personally would assume that it was only natural for Will to have lashed out and attacked Hannibal, and while playing the part of a man who couldn’t effectively defend himself in a fight was certainly useful to Hannibal, his pride couldn’t suffer that kind of blow. He wouldn’t be subjected to that kind of gossip. It was too tedious to clean up. 

 

Will’s best place to get burgers turned out to be a small diner that could seat around twenty if it were full, clean enough for perhaps somebody on Will’s side of the wall to accept, but certainly filthy by Hannibal’s own standards. It was another part of the test, he realised, Will wanted him to turn up his nose or to call off lunch. Hannibal wouldn’t give in so easily however, and despite the looks of the other patrons as he walks in, Hannibal won’t request that they eat somewhere else. 

Will walks up to the counter with ease, speaking with a waitress momentarily before he gestures for Hannibal to take a seat inside a booth with cracked faded-red leather seats and a table that looks like it might have once been white, if it weren’t neglected for years. There are menus at the table, tucked neatly behind a bottle of ketchup and another of something else that might be some sort of hot sauce. He sits down stiffly, uncomfortable in the less than clean area around him. It’s not that the diner is filthy, more that it’s not as clean as something similar on the other side of the wall might be. Hannibal does his best not to think about what the kitchen might be like, he doesn’t want to think about how the food will sit in his stomach later. 

“You aren’t going to catch anything here, Doctor Lecter, it’s alright. I haven’t brought you here to poison you.” Will laughs, and Hannibal finds that his own discomfort is worth the sound, offering Will a small, tight smile as he does his best to relax.

“I’m afraid that after so many years in a hospital, I’m used to more… clean environments.” He offers as way of explanation. “Please don’t take my discomfort the wrong way.” 

“It’s alright, you’re out of your element. You didn’t give me hell for the way I felt in your house, it’d be pretty rude of me to give you hell now.” Will concedes. “I just wanted to see how you’d react if I brought you somewhere like this. You were prodding about in my head, I figured it was only fair.” 

“An eye for an eye.” Hannibal hums. 

“Well, hopefully not here. I’m not too keen on the idea of cannibal burgers.” Will jokes. Hannibal returns the smile he’s given, it’s almost ironic that Will’s made such a joke, given the company he is currently keeping. 

“Are we to eat then? Or did you simply bring me here to see how far you could push me before I broke?” 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Will replies, handing a menu to Hannibal. He doesn’t take one for himself, Hannibal can only assume that it’s because he already plans to order the pulled pork burger he had mentioned before. “Plus, I want to see what a cook like you thinks of my favourite diner.” 

Hannibal can only hope that he manages to keep the meal down, the embarrassment at such a loss would be hard to live down. He suspects that Will would not easily let him forget it; a small victory for the other man if Hannibal fails to pass his test.

Though he’s uncomfortable with such, Hannibal allows Will to order for him and dreads the arrival of their lunch. 

“Thanks, by the way, for everything.” Will says casually and out of the blue. It’s obvious that he won’t let Hannibal press the topic much further than that. “Not a lot of people in your position would stick their necks out for a guy like me, I appreciate all the effort, even if you have done it for selfish reasons.”

“No need for thanks,” Hannibal assures, though they both know it’s not strictly true, there are certain conventions that must be followed in order for them to appear normal to the outside world, Will must forever act in Hannibal’s debt in public if they are not not arouse suspicion, especially now that Will is working the case. “I would do it a hundred times over.”

“Just not for a hundred other men.” Will hums, and Hannibal knows that he is right.

 

The food that is brought to their table is well enough constructed that it doesn’t make Hannibal balk at the idea of eating it, and he thinks his acute sense of smell letting him know that while the ingredients aren’t all that fresh, neither have they spoiled. Will begins to eat as soon as the food is placed down in front of them, and the enthusiasm reminds Hannibal of a time he’d rather forget. It’s takes Hannibal himself several moments to find the motivation to try the burger, and while it isn’t up to his standard, he is pleasantly surprised. There is the potential for excellent food in the burger, though all the hallmarks of a self taught chef are evident in the way that the meat has been spiced, and how the other ingredients have been unevenly placed. Too much lettuce and the wrong kind of cheese let the burger down. Still, Hannibal has eaten worse, and Will’s taste isn’t all that bad.

“You look like you’re going to write an essay about that burger, Doctor Lecter.” Will teases in between bites. 

“Perhaps I will. If I do, will you read it?” 

The way that Will’s face lights up when he laughs at Hannibal’s terrible joke is more than enough compensation for the burger’s quality, and rather shockingly to him, Hannibal realises that his infatuation with Will Graham, might just extend past what he can do to the man’s malleable and fragile mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/critiques help me improve, and fuel my drive to write better content. I was sick through writing a lot of this chapter, so please let me know if there are any glaring mistakes, and I’ll go back and fix them the best I can.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are welcome and encouraged! I’m always looking to better myself as a writer, and learn from past mistakes.


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